The Hand Of Oberon. Part six
“You’re right.”
He nodded, slowly.
“If it were anyone else, I would suspect a practical joke,” he said. “A treasure in a compost heap. … Family heirloom?”
“Yes. Forty or fifty carats. Simple setting. Heavy chain.”
He removed his pipe and whistled softly.
“Mind if I ask why you put it there?”
“I’d be dead now if I hadn’t.”
“Pretty good reason.”
He reached for the phone again.
“We’ve had some action on the house already,” he remarked. “Pretty good, since I haven’t advertised yet. Fellow’d heard from someone who’d heard from someone else. I took him over this morning. He’s thinking about it. We may move it pretty quick.”
He began to dial.
“Wait,” I said. “Tell me about him.”
He cradled the phone, looked up.
“Thin guy,” he said. “Redhead. Had a beard. Said he was an artist. Wants a place in the country.”
“Son of a bitch!” I said, just as Alice came into the room with a tray.
She made a tsking sound and smiled as she delivered it to me.
“Just a couple hamburgers and some leftover salad,” she said. “Nothing to get excited about.”
“Thank you. I was getting ready to eat my horse. I’d have felt bad afterward.”
“I don’t imagine he’d have been too happy about it himself. Enjoy,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.
“Was the compost heap still there when you took him over?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow.
“No,” he said after a moment. “The yard was already clear.”
“That’s something, anyway,” I said, and I began eating.
He made the call, and he talked for several minutes. I got the drift of things from his end of the conversation, but I listened to the entire thing after he had hung up, while I finished the food and washed it down with what was left in my glass.
“He hated to see good compost go to waste,” Bill said. “So he pitched the heap into his pickup just the other day and took it out to his farm. He dumped it next to a plot he intends to cultivate, and he has not had a chance to spread it yet. Says he did not notice any jewelry, but then he could easily have missed it.”
I nodded.
“If I can borrow a flashlight, I had better get moving.”
“Sure. I will drive you out,” he said.
“I do not want to be parted from my horse at this point.”
“Well, you will probably want a rake, and a shovel or a pitchfork. I can drive them out and meet you there, if you know where the place is.”
“I know where Ed’s place is. He must have tools, though.”
Bill shrugged and smiled.
“All right,” I said. “Let me use your bathroom, and then we had better get moving.”
“You seemed as if you knew the prospective buyer.”
I put the tray aside and rose to my feet.
“You heard of him last as Brandon Corey.”
“The guy who pretended to be your brother and got you committed?”
“’Pretended’ hell! He is my brother. No fault of mine, though. Excuse me.”
“He was there.”
“Where?”
“Ed’s place, this afternoon. At least a bearded redhead was.”
“Doing what?”
“Said he was an artist. Said he wanted permission to set up his easel and paint in one of the fields.”
“And Ed let him?”
“Yes, of course. Thought it was a great idea. That is why he told me about it. Wanted to brag.”
“Get the stuff. I will meet you there.”
“Right.”
The second thing I took out in the bathroom was my Trumps. I had to reach someone in Amber soonest, someone strong enough to stop him. But who? Benedict was on his way to the Courts at Chaos, Random was off looking for his son, I had just parted with Gerard on somewhat less than amicable terms. I wished that I had a Trump for Ganelon. I decided that I would have to try Gerard.
I drew forth his card, performed the proper mental maneuvers. Moments later, I had contact.
“Corwin!”
“Just listen, Gerard! Brand is alive, if that is any consolation. I’m damn sure of that. This is important. Life and death. You’ve got to do something fast!”